


Me Time

by DaAmazingMeepers



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dorks in Love, Embarrassment, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaAmazingMeepers/pseuds/DaAmazingMeepers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo's only real time to himself is when he's doing laundry. At least until the new tenant moves in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Me Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is my contribution to the Bagginshield Day shenanigans, and example of what happens if you get too caught up in roleplaying to write any actual stories (a.k.a. all of your oneshots start to look like RP prompts I'm sorry I'm so sorry). It's also only one of three bagginshield fics I have planned, so keep an eye out!

Doing laundry could be oddly therapeutic, at least to Bilbo Baggins. When he managed to go down to the laundry room of his apartment building while there was no one else down there, it gave him something to focus on that wasn’t how crummy his week had been or how annoying his relatives were. It was his ‘me time’, just him and the washing machines and dryers.

Sometimes he would simply watch his many vests swish through the clear round door of the washing machine as they ran on the delicate cycle and let himself get lost in the colors. Occasionally he would sit on top of the dryer while it ran (even though there was a sign above it warning residents not to) and hum just to listen to the way his voice sounded with the dryer shaking him. If he was feeling especially adventurous, he would remove his sandals to pull on a pair of socks - his hated enemy - and use them to slide across the polished floor, seeing how far he could get using only momentum.

If any of his relatives had seen him doing any of these things, they would have given him distasteful looks and told him that he wasn’t being respectable at all. This was precisely why he did those things, although he wasn’t quite brave enough to do them in front of said relatives. Still, he did have at least a bit of his mother’s Tookish nature, even if the Baggins side of him ensured that he would be utterly mortified if anyone caught him skidding across the floor like a child.

He had carefully memorized his neighbors’ laundry schedules, making sure he was only there when they were not, and it never failed him. Every day he was always in after Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had left and out before Saradoc Brandybuck arrived.

He didn’t notice when when the new tenant moved in, and no one bothered to tell him.

Just as scheduled, he passed by Lobelia on his way to the laundry room, who sniffed condescendingly as she went by (well sod you too, Lobelia). Just as scheduled, he set out his detergent on top of the dryer and his hamper next to the washer’s round door. Just as scheduled, he threw his pile of dirty clothes into the washer and set it on normal, giving him a precious thirty minutes before it was time to load them into the dryer. He had brought his music with him that day, and he slipped his headphones on with a small smile, setting it to his ‘energy’ playlist, which was mostly full of Irish river dances and upbeat classical music. The lively beats of the songs soon got to him, making him dance in an unorganized fashion. He wasn’t a terribly good dancer, but that didn't stop him from trying. When the washer was finished, he switched them over to the dryer, still keeping the beat as he did. He turned it on with a dramatic flick of his wrist and spun on his bare toes.

It was then that he noticed the stranger standing in the open doorway, holding a laundry basket with a look of sheepish surprise on his face.

For a moment, both of them stood frozen, unwilling to be the first to move. Then a heavy blush covered Bilbo’s cheeks, and he settled for leaning against the counter next to the machines and avoiding eye contact. Through his music, he heard the stranger mutter an apology as he moved over to the washer to load his own clothes in, and Bilbo was careful not to meet his eyes. His initial urge was to apologize right back but what had he to apologize for besides making an utter fool of himself?

The moment the dryer was done, he gathered his clothes in the hamper and scurried back upstairs, passing a surprised-looking Saradoc on his way.

—

That evening, Bilbo’s landlord, Mr. Gandalf Grayhame paid him a visit, as he was wont to do. Normally Bilbo would have greeted him with a polite offer of tea, but as his embarrassment had yet to die down, he instead went with a wry, “You couldn’t have told me that we have a new tenant?”

Gandalf raised an eyebrow in mild surprise at the irritation in Bilbo’s voice. “My dear fellow,” he replied easily, “I was not aware that you had to be notified every time a new person moved into the building.” A faint flush crossed Bilbo’s face as the taller man continued. “Besides, I would have thought you’d have noticed yourself. It’s not as if he moved in under cover of night.”

“Well I didn’t!” Bilbo retorted. “And now I’ve completely embarrassed myself and more than likely him as well with my confounded dancing!” With a moan, he covered his face with his hands. “Oh, by the Green Lady, if he mentions it to anyone else in the complex I’ll be a laughingstock!”

An amused twinkle had developed in Gandalf’s eye, the kind that tended to cause Bilbo frustration and made him feel like a child under the scrutiny of his grandfather. “I doubt he will be telling anyone about your encounter, Bilbo,” he stated. “From what I have seen, he tends to keep to himself.”

Well, at least there was that for comfort. With a sigh, Bilbo pulled out his pipe, filling it with his favorite tobacco before offering it to Gandalf, who graciously accepted. “Still, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look him in the eye,” he said after a puff or two on the pipe.

He only got an enigmatic smirk in return.

—

Bilbo managed to avoid going down to the laundry room for a week and a half before the amount of unwashed clothes in his hamper finally got to him. With a sigh, he gathered up the stray handkerchiefs that had fallen to the floor, piled them back on top of the pile of clothes, and reluctantly carried the hamper down the stairs. He tried to comfort himself as he walked down the hall. _‘Really, what are the odds that you’ll run into him again after a week and a half?’_ he asked himself. _‘He’s probably already done his laundry for the week.’_

Upon reaching the open door to the laundry room, however, he could hear the distinct sound of the dryer running. _‘Bother, someone’s already here,’_ he thought exasperatedly. He was about to turn around and go back to his flat when he heard it: someone was singing.

It definitely wasn't anyone Bilbo knew; none of his neighbors or relatives had the dulcet tones that this person clearly had. Could it be…? Carefully setting the hamper down, Bilbo peered around the door frame. Sure enough, there was the new tenant, leaning casually against the counter and singing quietly to himself. Was that a top 40 pop song he was singing? It certainly didn’t fit with his strong, somewhat threatening presence.

As his back was to Bilbo, the timid man took a chance to observe the newcomer. He had long, dark hair that was currently pulled into a loose ponytail, and clearly towered above Bilbo by at least a foot. His build was thick and muscular, and Bilbo found himself wondering just how much weight he could lift. With a nervous gulp, Bilbo took a step backwards - it really was very rude to be staring at him like that even if he didn’t catch him doing it - and promptly ran into his hamper, making it skid on the linoleum.

Instantly, the stranger whipped his head around to look at him, recognition lighting up in his eyes when he saw who was there. There was a long, awkward silence, and there was a vague sense of dejá vu in the air. It was then that a thought came to Bilbo. _‘This is ridiculous. There’s no reason for both of us to be embarrassed if we’ve both made fools of ourselves.’_ With that thought giving him courage, he straightened his back with a determined look. “Well, now we’ve both embarrassed ourselves in front of each other, so it seems we’re even,” he stated.

There was another pregnant pause, and then the man chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “It seems so,” he agreed.

A small smile grew on Bilbo’s face to match the one on the stranger’s face. “Let’s start over,” he suggested, stepping forward to offer a hand. “Bilbo Baggins.”

The man shook it, his massive hand practically engulfing Bilbo’s. “Thorin Oakenshield,” he replied.

If their hands stayed connected a little too long, or their gazes stayed locked on each other for longer than was strictly socially acceptable, neither of them brought it up. When they at last parted, Bilbo took a step back to collect his hamper. “So,” he said with a shy smile as he headed for the washer, “do you know any other songs, or do you just stick to Taylor Swift?”

A flush crossed Thorin’s cheeks, and he looked as though he was about to sputter a protest before he tilted his chin up, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I’ll have you know there’s nothing wrong with a grown man liking Taylor Swift,” he retorted.

“No, nothing wrong with it by any means,” Bilbo agreed teasingly. “But it’s certainly not usual.”

Thorin scoffed. “And what would be the usual for someone like me, then?” he asked.

Bilbo tossed a pair of trousers into the washer and turned around to observe Thorin contemplatively. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “something like classic rock? Maybe classical? Although with that hair I’m sure people like to assume you’re into metal.”

“Oh, so now we’re falling back on stereotypes, are we?” Thorin teased. “Shame on you, Mr. Baggins.”

“Just Bilbo is fine, Mr. Oakenshield, Bilbo replied with a smirk. “I think we’ve passed the point of formality after mutual embarrassment.”

The smile that appeared on Thorin’s face made Bilbo’s heart flutter. “Fair point…Bilbo.”

It was in that moment as a blush dusted his cheeks and his heart skipped a beat that Bilbo knew just how much trouble he was in.

—

From that day on, without either of them planning it out loud, somehow their laundry schedules managed to match up every time, with just enough time for the washer to be available for whoever came in second. Thorin would hum or sing whatever song had been on his mind that week, and Bilbo would dance along. And sometimes, if they were both feeling feisty, they would each slip on a pair of socks and slide across the floor to see who could slide the furthest.


End file.
